


Teddy Bear Boys

by quietlyintoemptyspaces



Series: I have commitment issues (but I shared anyway) [5]
Category: Merlin (TV), Mysterious Skin (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, But it's not said, Catrina is a bad person too, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Crossover, Dissociation, Edwin is Coach, F/F, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Implied Underage Pornography, M/M, Non-con touching, Rape, Rape Recovery, Self-Harm, Social Anxiety, Therapy, Underage Prostitution, Unfinished, Uther kind of sucks at parenting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-18
Updated: 2015-05-18
Packaged: 2018-03-31 03:50:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3963334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quietlyintoemptyspaces/pseuds/quietlyintoemptyspaces
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes Merlin wonders if his mum gets tired of eating the same thing over and over, gets tired of sitting out in the waiting room while Dr. Gaius confirms that her only son is crazy, gets tired of being woken in the middle of the night by ghosts she can't even see, can't even fight, because they're all in Merlin's head. Sometimes he wonders if she's going to leave for work one day and just decide to never come back. He wouldn't blame her if she did.</p>
<p>OR</p>
<p>Arthur and Merlin don't know each other, but they did meet once. One day, a few hours, and an experience neither of them will ever forget.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Teddy Bear Boys

**Author's Note:**

> For a prompt on livejournal that I started about a million years ago... and then forgot about and lost it.
> 
> One of the biggest reasons I never continued this is because it hits a lot of issues that I have that I am not very good at dealing with. That, and the headspace I have to get into is not a good place to be.
> 
> But I made it this far, so yay.
> 
> I set it up so that this is the first chapter should I ever get the gumption up to continue this, which I hope to do someday.

 

Merlin dreams sometimes. It’s rare, because he has pills for that now, something bitter that doesn’t go down easy, but he takes them anyway because he doesn’t like the dreams.

 

They’re fuzzy, and feel all too real when he’s in them, and they make his tongue taste worse than the pills do when he takes them dry. He’s always small, and the man is huge, with huge hands that try to reassure him but only make him more nervous, more scared. There’s something in the corner that blinks at him but he can’t focus on it. When coarse fingers touch his thigh he grabs for his bear. He doesn’t remember having the bear before this, just knows that one day he woke up crying and soft fur was his only comfort.

 

Merlin’s asked his mother countless times about the bear but she never has any answers for him. She’s as clueless as he is.

 

When he dreams, he wakes up with tears and screams and grabs for the bear, the one with worn brown fur and a missing eye and a bowtie that keeps falling off despite his mother’s best attempts at repeatedly sewing it back on. He used to carry it around with him everywhere, even after he learned that it wasn’t really appropriate for a boy of fifteen to bring a teddy bear to school. He’d stopped after some bullies took it and tried to tear it to pieces.

 

Merlin dreams again tonight even though he takes his pills on time, and it’s the same as all the others. Large hands on his leg, reaching up under his shorts; thick fingers teasing at the bottom of his shirt; a wide grin and then thin lips pursing with a _shh shh_ that only succeeds in making Merlin’s head spin. There’s a baseball bat in the corner next to the blinking light. It’s red; everything in the room is red except for the black eyes trying to take him apart.

 

There’s something beside him. Comforting. He reaches for it, small fingers stretching out for something, anything. Soft, and warm, like someone else was holding it, but he can’t dwell on that, brings it to his chest, holds it over him as though a mere child’s toy will protect him.

 

It doesn’t. He’s pressed flat and his clothes are ripped. Red and gold; his football uniform. Merlin hasn’t played football since he was eight so he doesn’t know why he’s dreaming about it now. Hands bruise his shoulders and his heart flutters in his chest like a nervous hummingbird; he feels hot and cold all over, and he’s crying, he knows he is, because his cheeks are wet. And there’s pain, pain where there’s not supposed to be pain, but it hurts. It hurts so much…!

 

Merlin’s world tilts, and as he turns his head away, he sees his own eyes reflecting back on the lens of the camera. He only wishes he could recognize them.

 

-

 

Merlin sits up abruptly in bed, the scream dying in his throat before it can escape, one hand digging into his sheets, the other clasping tightly to the bear. His eyes feel red and puffy, so he knows he was crying, but it doesn’t make things any easier.

 

He takes the bear downstairs, sets him on the table while he splashes cold water onto his face and then pours some juice. Merlin sits for a few minutes, stares at a few worn spots of fake fur until he hears water running in the bathroom. Mum’s up.

 

Eggs have always been difficult for him to crack, but they’re even more so with hands that won’t stop shaking. By the time three yolks are staring up at him from the bottom of a sizzling skillet, he only has to pick out two pieces of shell and a blueberry. The blueberry’s supposed to go with the pancakes, so he’s not entirely sure how it ended up with the eggs, but figuring it out helps take his mind off heavier things.

 

His mum always appreciates breakfast, even if it comes with a worried smile and crunchy eggs. This morning is no different. She comes out of her bathroom in her light blue uniform dress with the white collar and buttons and the sensible shoes. Her nametag is in place and her apron is next to her jacket and purse, and beside that is her waiting plate.

 

She knows him too well though. “They’re getting worse, aren’t they?”

 

He can’t even pretend to be stupid because there’s no shell in the egg this time and the pancakes aren’t burnt. “I took my pills,” is really all he can say, because if he says yes she’ll start worrying again, but if he says no he’s lying to her.

 

She nods anyway, takes a sip of juice. “I’ll call Dr. Gaius on my lunch break to see if he can up your dosage. You’re probably just getting used to them being in your system.”

 

It’s probably the same thing Dr. Gaius will say, too, but somehow Merlin thinks they’re both wrong.

 

-

 

Arthur whistles tunelessly as he swings his feet on the swing. It’s a horrible place to hook up with random strangers, but somehow it works. This side of the park is mostly empty anyway, long abandoned by kids wanting to try out the newest playhouse and swing set and tunnel slides rather than the simple, rusted things that Arthur grew up on. He figures it’s appropriate, ironically fitting, that where he once enjoyed childish innocence, he’s now getting paid to suck cock.

 

His smokes are unfiltered and his pills aren’t prescription, but it’s just enough to make his head buzz without the alcohol he usually takes to kick everything into place.

 

A white car with dark windows pulls into the empty lot, and Arthur knows that car; flicks ash against the orange chain and lets the last of the smoke out of his lungs with a slow exhale as he sticks what’s left behind his ear. He’ll finish it after this guy gets what he wants.

 

He’s right, he does know this guy; thick mustache he should have left in the eighties, a spare tire around his middle, a comb over that looks absolutely ridiculous, and a fat dick that Arthur rather likes. He always wants the same thing, too, so it’s no trouble for Arthur to lean over the center console and take the thing in his mouth. His tongue lavishes it, teases until its purple and weeping; the guy’s going to blow his load any minute, Arthur knows it, so he pulls back. This guy likes for his boys to wear it on their faces; as long as Arthur gets paid he doesn’t care where it goes.

 

Arthur walks back to his swing with his pockets a little heavier and is just about to light up again when another car pulls up. It’s new, black and sleek and shiny, and Arthur wonders what kind of money this guy is going to offer up and what he’s going to have to do to get it.

 

There must be something about middle-age and mustaches because the new guy has one too, but he’s tall and thin, with big hands and big feet and a big nose. The hotel they go to is one Arthur knows well, because it’s where everyone takes him.

 

His mind tends to go away when he’s being fucked. He doesn’t really understand it, just knows that as soon as someone starts pushing fingers inside and stretching him, his mind just stops, floats away for a while until something heavy drops onto his back, sweaty and heaving. Moments like this, Arthur hates himself.

 

But the money is good, and soon enough he’ll have enough saved up that he can leave for real.

 

-

 

Arthur remembers the house as heaven. The first night they’d played video games for four hours, ordered pizza, and ate so many sweets Arthur thought he’d be sick. Uther didn’t let him have sweets, didn’t let him have much of anything, really; he wasn’t around much.

 

Arthur supposes that’s where the coach came in. He’d signed up for football with his school and he couldn’t miss the way the man looked at him. Sometimes he convinced himself that he became the star player to impress his father, even though his father was never at the games, didn’t ask him about them either. In the end he knows it was all for the coach.

 

The polaroids happened a week after the video games. The first pictures were only of his face, his mouth, his tongue. It didn’t strike him weird until it was other parts of him being photographed. It didn’t stop his visits to the coach’s house though.

 

The first time Arthur came was with the coach, with his mouth hot and wet and so much bigger, tasting of sugary cereal and sweet milk. He fantasizes about it sometimes, when one of the guys from the park is kissing him, and sometimes that’s where his mind is when he’s being fucked. Because the coach didn’t stop at photographs and kisses. It always felt good, even if it was a little scary, but he knew the coach loved him.

 

And that was what mattered, that the coach loved him.

 

-

 

Merlin stands with his forehead pressed against one of the glass panels of the wall. It’s a wall made entirely of glass, like a window but bigger, and Merlin has been fascinated with it since he started seeing Dr. Gaius. Today, though, he just stares out at the rain without seeing, eyes vacant. His fingers touch the glass and leave a trail of smudge marks and half-prints.

 

“Merlin?”

 

The Doctor’s voice sounds distant and it makes Merlin frown; it should sound like it’s coming from right behind him because that’s where the Doctor is, it’s where he sits. He hears it again, a little louder, worried, and some of the fuzziness in his vision fades. He turns, blinks, and can feel the gauze peel away from the wounds on his thighs at the motion.

 

Dr. Gaius waves at the chair across from himself and Merlin sits, lets his fingernails scratch against the seams nervously. “I hear you haven’t been sleeping well?” It’s posed as a question but Merlin knows it’s not.

 

He shakes his head before he says, “I keep having nightmares. And I can’t keep anything down.”

 

Dr. Gaius nods, writes something down in the notepad on his lap; Merlin hadn’t noticed it. “Is it the same dream you were having before?”

 

“Yes.” Merlin doesn’t mean for his voice to come out so sharp and it startles him a little, makes the Doctor look up at him with a raised eyebrow.

 

“It could just be your body trying to remember,” Dr. Gaius says, but Merlin doesn’t like the way he says it. “However, I will increase your dosage. And I suggest starting with ginger for your nausea, but if that doesn’t work, just have your mother call me and I’ll see about getting you something else, okay?”

 

Merlin bites his lip and nods. He’s wasted most of his time staring at nothing, mind as blank as he feels with this new pain coursing through him. It’s a temporary reprieve. But Dr. Gaius is nothing but helpful. “I’ve been making mum breakfast,” he adds after a moment, if only to give some sort of good news, even if it’s not what the Doctor was hoping for. “I haven’t been dropping shells in the eggs and the pancakes are almost decent.”

 

Sometimes Merlin wonders if his mum gets tired of eating the same thing over and over, gets tired of sitting out in the waiting room while Dr. Gaius confirms that her only son is crazy, gets tired of being woken in the middle of the night by ghosts she can’t even see, can’t even fight, because they’re all in Merlin’s head. Sometimes he wonders if she’s going to leave for work one day and just decide to never come back. He wouldn’t blame her if she did.

 

Dr. Gaius smiles at him. “It’s going to get better Merlin,” he says. “But you’re going to have to face your fears to get there.”

 

Yeah, that’s what he’s afraid of.

 

-

 

Uther’s house is cold and big and Arthur almost hates that he has to come back every night and sleep here. Morgana makes it worth it though.

 

Morgana moved in when Arthur was ten and she was twelve. It was a very rough start to begin with, especially when he thought he’d have to share what little attention he had of Uther’s with her. When it became apparent that Uther wasn’t going to pay attention to either of them while they were fighting, they decided that at least they could _pretend_ to get along. Of course, neither of them had planned on it leading to a lifelong bond of sarcastic retorts and actual friendship.

 

He showers before he goes to his room, mostly out of habit, and by the time he gets there Morgana’s already lying across his bed, flipping through the Playboy she’d bought him two years ago that he never got around to looking at. She enjoyed it more than he did anyway.

 

“How’s business?” she asks over her shoulder, just as he drops his towel and goes for his sweatpants. Not that it matters; she’s usually more interested in girls.

 

“None of yours,” he replies simply, a bit sarcastic, but it’s true. Whatever chance he may have had with Morgana he’d ruined long ago, with one simple action that showed her just how screwed up he was.

 

It had started with something stupid, a school yard tussle in the middle of the night when they should have been at home. Uther was still working late those nights, just like he still is, and it was at the beginning of their tenuous friendship, somewhere between enemies and siblings. It was an older boy, by maybe two years, who tried to bully them off the swings. When Arthur pushed him in anger, he’d fallen, smacked his head against the large steel bar of the swing set that dug into the sand and didn’t get back up.

 

The boy looked daze, surely concussed, and Morgana was suddenly worried about what was going to happen. They were going to get in trouble, she knew, they’d be blamed for what happened, no matter if they were responsible for it or not. But Arthur pushed her out of the way, piled sand beneath the older boys head and kneeled beside him.

 

“It’s okay,” he told them both, more for Morgana’s peace of mind than for the other’s. “I know what to do.” It was only a matter of maneuver to unzip the boy’s pants and work him into a stubby hardness. “Someone did this for me. I’ll make you feel good. Yeah, good boy…that’s it…”

 

And Morgana had watched, horrified, as he sucked off some kid barely into puberty. That’s probably what changed between them, not that Uther refused to accept their constant arguments, but that Morgana was the only person who knew what Arthur truly was. She had accepted him and that had to count for something.

 

“You should try dating someone your own age,” she says when he finally settles beside her. He reads some of the funnier stories over her shoulder, knows it drives her mad but does it anyway. “I don’t see how you can stand middle-aged fuddy-duddies. That’s like… you know, it’s almost like sucking off Uther.”

 

“That’s disgusting,” he tells her, lets it show plainly on his face. “Not even I’m that messed up.”

 

Morgana hums her amusement though, kicking her feet in the air before she says something else. “There’s a new girl in school.”

 

“Oh?” Arthur would probably know that if he ever went, but half the time he skips out and when he does go he rarely pays attention. He’s actually surprised he’s passing any of his classes.

 

“Hm. Gwen,” Morgana says, and the name is more of a purr than anything. Arthur knows that tone, knows that whenever he gets around to meeting Gwen she’ll likely be wrapped around Morgana’s little finger because that’s how Morgana is with all her conquests. “She’s in drama. I think she said she wanted to be an actor or something. Right now she’s just doing backstage work though. She tutors too.”

 

Arthur drops onto his back and just stares at the ceiling while she talks about everything he’s missed at school in the past two days. Something in the back of his mind tells him it should matter, every word that Morgana is saying, that he should care… right now he’s just incapable.

 

-

 

Higher dosage doesn’t work and the ginger makes the nausea worse, amazingly, but Merlin doesn’t tell his mum, can’t bear to face anymore disappointment from her, even if she doesn’t mean it. There are more bandages today, and they itch, but it’s worth the torment if it helps him get to sleep at night, helps him focus during the day.

 

He knows from past experience that it’s not going to last, that soon enough self-served wounds are going to work about as well as his prescriptions. At this point though he’s willing to try just about anything.

 

Half-past noon the doorbell rings. Merlin knows who it is, but falters for a moment on whether he should answer it or not. In the moment it takes for him to draw breath and take a step, the ringing goes to knocking and a concerned, soft-voiced, “Hullo?”

 

It’s a girl then.

 

Merlin opens the door, mouth twitching a forced smile that doesn’t stay long. He’s not good at dealing with strangers, wishes that his old tutor had stayed behind so he doesn’t have to do this on a day that’s not good at all. The girl’s smile is bright and sunny and it warms Merlin a little, and her skin is dark. He takes a moment trying to decide if it’s closer to caramel or melted chocolate chips and then decides that it’s more like his mum’s coffee, a splash of milk and a couple spoons of sugar.

 

Merlin thinks that he’ll like her.

 

“Hi, Merlin? I’m Gwen. I was told you needed a new tutor for your homeschooling?”

 

Merlin nods even though he doesn’t know why she poses it as a question if she already knows the answer. “Yes,” he says anyway. “He fell in love with a drummer and they decided to runaway together. I think they eloped.”

 

Gwen’s eyes smile, and those, he thinks, _are_ like chocolate. “I’m new, so I don’t know much about the people yet.”

 

Merlin tilts his head and lets his face relax, considering; it’s the closest he can come to a smile right now. “It’s okay,” he says, trying not to make it sound as hollow as he feels. “I don’t know much about the people either.”

 

Gwen is surprisingly easy to like. She orders them pizza while they study even though he tells her how well he’s been doing with the eggs and pancakes, but the muffins are new, so they’re not that great yet. She says she’ll try them if he makes them, but he just shakes his head. They need to study, that’s why she’s here.

 

She’s very knowledgeable and answers all the questions Gwaine never could and the ones that she doesn’t know she says she’ll look up overnight so she can tell him the next day when they meet. Gwen’s still there when his mum gets home and she smiles at them in greeting. Merlin does his best to smile back and half-succeeds.

 

He’d pretended for a while to always look happy and it had drained him. He’d slept hard after school until he had to get up and then he’d started falling asleep in his classes and falling behind in his work. His teachers told him he shouldn’t stay up so late and that he should pay more attention; he didn’t have any energy to keep up with his friends so they slowly fell away. Hunith had looked at him one day, the third day she’d kept him out of school and said, “If it hurts so much, don’t force it.”

 

She’d cried after that, called out of work, and had held him the rest of the day. A week after he’d had an appointment with Dr. Gaius. Things are marginally better than they were, but not enough that Merlin could continuously smile like he had as a boy.

 

And the nightmares certainly don’t help.

 

Hunith sits on the other side of the kitchen table and steals a slice of pizza while they work on an advanced equation that Merlin is fairly certain has something to do with chemistry. He’s only had one piece and half of that is still on his plate; he’s as far from full as he is from hungry, but for some reason he can’t make himself finish it.

 

It isn’t until later, after his mum goes back to work and Gwen leaves for the day, when Catrina brings flowers that he remembers why. It’s the two year anniversary of Will’s death. That’s when things went from pretty bad to much worse.

 

Will had been his best friend. Merlin didn’t have to pretend around him. He could be sad if he wanted, or cry if he felt like it, and Will didn’t mind Merlin’s little half-smiles or his weird twitchy behavior. Will was twitchy too. It was all taken away in the middle of the night. The police said it had been a drunk driver.

 

Merlin had been numb since that night, more numb than before. He hadn’t even cried. Sometimes he hated himself for it, and sometimes he wondered if his mum died if he’d be able to cry then, if he’d even feel it.

 

Catrina smiles at him and hands him over the flowers and says, “Hunith told me to look in on you. Are you okay?”

 

He invites her in and they sit on the couch. Her hand is on his knee; he doesn’t like it, but he doesn’t say anything. It’s supposed to be a gesture of comfort. Merlin can’t tell her he doesn’t need comfort though, so he sits through it.

 

She keeps talking but Merlin’s not listening anymore. He’s too focused on her hand, sliding up his leg. His breath stutters in his chest and for a moment he stops breathing entirely; he can’t even feel his heart beating. Every warning bell in his body is going off but he can’t move. He wants to ask, “What are you doing?” but he can’t make his mouth work.

 

“It’s okay,” she says, her other hand going into his hair. “It’ll make you feel better.”

 

_It’s okay. It’s okay. You’ll feel good. Yeah… see? Now you do that same. Oh, that’s nice, isn’t it? Yeah… yeah…_

“No!”

 

Merlin’s not sure what happens, just knows that the voice in his head isn’t Catrina’s, but she’s doing the movements just the same, trying to unto his trousers and reaching into them. He pushes her away with more force than he knows he possesses and she falls back, off the couch onto the floor and narrowly misses her head on the coffee table.

 

“Merlin, baby, it’s okay,” she says calmly, but there’s something sinister in her voice that makes Merlin’s blood run cold. “Now come here and help me up.”

 

Merlin shakes his head and does the only thing he can. He runs.

 

-

 

Morgana’s not sure why she bothers waiting for Arthur. He’s supposed to be done at a set time, but that time passed more than an hour ago. It’s cold, it’s almost nine, and she’d really rather be flipping through Arthur’s magazines and possibly fantasizing about the new girl. Instead she’s shivering her ass off in the middle of an abandoned park, sitting on a rusted swing set that creaks every time she moves, and she’s worried sick, despite the fact that she told herself that she wouldn’t worry anymore.

 

She can’t even properly blame him. The only one to blame is that sick fuck who messed him up, and really, it’s just a phantom now, some invisible ghost that Morgana can’t fight. Arthur fights it though, even if he won’t admit it. She sees it in his eyes.

 

Sometimes she blames Uther for not being there when his son needed him most. It’s usually what causes the fights between them. Hell, it’s usually what causes the fights between all of them. Three stubborn, headstrong people living under the same roof… fights and arguments are bound to happen. Like the one she’s going to start with Arthur whenever he finally shows up.

 

Somewhere behind her she hears feet slapping against the sidewalk and she’s about to yell out the first insult that comes but then she turns, mouth half-open, and stops. That’s not Arthur. Too tall, too thin, too pale. And the look in his eyes… Morgana’s only seen that on Arthur’s worst nights. It’s like he’s not even there.

 

Morgana watches as he stills and looks around as though not sure where he is. It’s like her life is filled with lost boys. She probably shouldn’t have stolen the part of Wendy when she was nine because now it seems its coming back to bite her.

 

After a moment that feels too long he moves closer, slow and easy like a scared animal. Maybe that’s precisely what he is, Morgana decides, as he gently takes the swing next to her. This close she can see him better, see that he’s not wearing shoes, and that the bottom of his feet are black, his toenails most likely blue in this weather. His clothes are thin and soaked with sweat and there’s a small red spot on the outside of his leg that’s slowly spreading but it doesn’t look all that dangerous. His hands are shaking, but he’s not shivering.

 

Morgana bites her lips before saying, “You know, you don’t look like the type who usually hangs out here.”

 

It takes a long while, but finally he replies, “Too old?”

 

His voice is shaking, Morgana realizes, and wonders if he even means to be here or if it’s just where he ended up. “No, the kids play at the new park now.”

 

He looks behind him and he must see better than Morgana does because a second later he says, “Oh. I haven’t been out in a while.”

 

It’s bugging Morgana, so she asks, “Aren’t you cold?”

 

“Not really.”

 

Hm. Something like Arthur, then. “Yeah, my brother doesn’t feel cold much, either. I’m Morgana, by the way.” She offers her hand but he doesn’t take it, but she does hear the barely audible “Merlin” that he squeaks out. “Is you’re leg okay? It’s bleeding.”

 

Seems he hadn’t felt that either. He looks down and touches it. “Oh.”

 

Morgana sighs, looks at her bike. “C’mon, I’ll take you home.”

 

Almost as soon as she finishes, he starts, “No! No, I can’t go home right now.” It’s the most emotion she’s heard from him and it’s all in the rush of a single breath.

 

“Look, I’m not just going to leave you here to freeze to death. If you won’t let me take you home, then you can come to mine. Okay?”

 

He looks scared again and Morgana just wants to hit her head against a wall for a while. Just before she’s about to give up she hears him say, “Okay. But no touching.”

 

Morgana would make a joke but she can see the seriousness behind the statement. “Okay. No touching.”

 

It’s a short walk to Uther’s house but Merlin limps the whole way. He doesn’t wince or flinch though, just keeps putting one foot in front of the other. Occasionally he sends a nervous glance towards her but they lessen the longer they walk. He merely blinks at the size of the house as she lets him in. Morgana leads him down the hall and up the stairs. She can hear music coming out of Arthur’s room and she’s going to kill him, but right now she has to get Merlin settled.

 

Her room is spacious, and it has various pictures and posters pinned to the wall, with a bed right in the middle. Merlin sits at the end and Morgana hands him the house phone. “At least call someone so nobody worries,” she tells him. “I’m going to get you something to change in to, okay?”

 

She doesn’t bother knocking on Arthur’s door, just bursts in and heads for his dresser. “You’re a dick, you know that?”

 

“I didn’t tell you to wait,” Arthur mumbles and then glances up and frowns at her. “What are you doing?”

 

“I have a friend over. He needs a change of clothes.”

 

Arthur’s eyebrows twitch. “You have a friend? And _he_? I thought you were into chicks.”

 

Morgana throws a paperback book at his head and moves to the next drawer. “It’s not like that. He just can’t go home just yet. And seriously, how the hell do you organize your drawers?”

 

“Does your friend need a condom?” He asks as she goes for the door, his clothes in hand. “And you’re welcome!”

 

She doesn’t turn, but just before she closes the door she says, “Thanks. But you’re still a dick.”

 

Merlin’s still on the phone when she returns, and only half listens as she sets the clothes beside him and digs another blanket out of the closet.

 

“…reminds me of Will… Yeah, I’ll be okay… I, um. I actually haven’t been taking them… They don’t work, mum. I’m sorry… Okay, I love you too… Yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow. Good night.”

 

“Everything okay?” Morgana says beneath a comforter that became unfolded as she pulled it out. She’s sure she looks like a rose covered ghost or something, minus the eyeholes; she unburies herself and flings it to the floor beside the bed. “That thing’s heavier than I remember it being.” Merlin nods but doesn’t smile, so Morgana points to the clothes beside him. “You can change in the bathroom, if you like.”

 

When Merlin comes back he’s dressed in Arthur’s clothes and he looks dwarfed in them. It’s actually kind of adorable. She watches him walk around, staring at the posters and looking at the pictures that are taped to her mirror. The newest one catches his attention.

 

“Gwen,” he says, and Morgana almost misses is. “You know Gwen?”

 

Morgana nods, smiles. “Yeah, we go to school together, share a few classes. How do you know her?”

 

“She helps me with homeschooling. I actually just met her today. I like her.”

 

“It’s hard not to like Gwen. I don’t anyone who doesn’t.” She says it with a wistful voice and Merlin stares at her for a moment.

 

“Oh,” he says again, and it’s like his whole demeanor changes.

 

An hour later a noise wakes Morgana. At first she thinks it’s just the floorboards creaking, or Arthur’s footsteps in the hall, easier to hear now that she’s sleeping on the floor. It takes a moment to hear it again, and this time she knows. It’s Merlin, whimpering and kicking at the blankets. Morgana leans up and watches his face in the dark, hard to see but easy enough to imagine.

 

Sitting gently beside him on the edge of the bed, she nudges his shoulder and whispers his name. She’s not supposed to touch him, she knows, but she doesn’t know what else to do, so she does it again. “Merlin. Merlin, it’s okay.”

 

She doesn’t know what he sees when he opens his eyes and looks at her, and she can’t really contemplate what it could have been, because the next moment his arms are wrapped around her waist and he’s crying into her stomach. Morgana’s not entirely sure what to do because she’s never had anybody curled up in her lap crying before, let alone someone she just met, so she just lets one hand pet Merlin’s head and the other rub circles into his shaking back.

 

“Shh, shh, it’s okay, Merlin,” she whispers, and repeats it again, over and over until he lies still and hiccups in his sleep. She smiles sadly down at him even though he can’t see it and wonders if this is what it was like for her mum after she’d had a nightmare.

 

Her hands don’t stop their motion, still trying to comfort Merlin in his sleep, so she almost misses the creak of the door. Arthur looks in at them for a moment, frowning, and she meets his eyes.

 

She wonders if it would have been like this if Arthur had ever accepted her comfort after his nightmares. Probably not, she thinks, as he disappears again.

 

This is quite possibly the craziest Saturday night she’s ever had.

 

-

 

Merlin’s mum isn’t there when he finally gets home, but there is a note on the fridge instructing him to call her as soon as he gets in. He doesn’t smile at that, but Morgana does. When he finally reassures Hunith that he’s fine, he’s okay and clicks the phone off, Morgana looks like she’s about to leave and apologize for intruding but she doesn’t get the chance.

 

“Stay. Please,” Merlin says, and his eyes actually feel clear, not hazy and disjointed. “I can make you eggs and pancakes.” He watches her sit back down at the table, twiddling her thumbs like she doesn’t know what to do. “Gwen will be here soon,” he tries, and she smiles at that, because now he knows that when she says she likes Gwen, it’s not the same as Merlin’s like.

 

Morgana watches him make eggs and pancakes. It’s a weird feeling, being watched, because so far the only person who’s watched him do this has been dead for two years. Strangely, though, it doesn’t bother him, because Morgana kind of reminds him of Will in an offhand kind of way. It’s nice. While she eats her eggs and pancakes, Merlin sets about making the muffins he’s been trying to make for the past week. Unfortunately, they haven’t gotten much better.

 

Gwen’s still happy to try one when she gets there, though, but she starts coughing after the first bite and has to steal Morgana’s water. She laughs after and takes another bite, and then chews for a few minutes before saying, “What recipe are you following?”

 

Merlin shrugs and puts the flour into the cabinet. “I’m not. I mostly just go by what looks right.”

 

“They’re good,” Gwen says kindly. “But next time you might not want to add as much baking powder. It tends to overpower.”

 

Merlin nods and takes note, writes beneath his mum’s words on the fridge. That’s when he sees his teddy bear. His mum must have put it there for him, and he smiles at it. It feels like it’s been too long since he’s seen it. He takes it back to the table with him and Gwen doesn’t even blink. Morgana stares, though.

 

“My brother used to do that,” she says. “He used to carry his bear around everywhere. You couldn’t get him to stop. In all the pictures I’ve seen, he has it there, right beside him. Uther told me he stopped sometime after he started playing football, and then, well, I’ve never seen one in his room.”

 

“You don’t know?” Gwen asks, eyebrows wrinkled in confusion.

 

“No,” Morgana says with a shake of her head. “I came to live with them a couple years after that. I don’t imagine he just threw it away, though. His mum gave him that bear, and it’s the only thing that he had that was hers.”

 

Gwen smiles across the table and flips open one of the books before she starts reviewing what they went over yesterday. This is easy, Merlin decides. This he can do. Math is simple, science is simple, English is simple. People… people are decidedly _not._

 

-

 

Dr. Gaius is writing again in his notepad. Sometimes Merlin wonders what words he uses to describe him, but has to stop because then he’ll start thinking of letters and definitions instead of what he should be thinking about.

 

“So, you’ve made friends?” Dr. Gaius asks.

 

Merlin nods, but he knows Gaius expects more than that. “Morgana and Gwen. They helped me make muffins last week.”

 

Merlin remembers that day very well. It seemed the whole kitchen had been coated in a layer of flour. He’d stepped away for a moment to get a towel while the muffins baked and when he came back he had caught a moment, a private moment, shared between the two girls.

 

Gwen had just smeared some of the leftover batter on Morgana’s nose, a playful move, but when she brought her hand down there was heat in her eyes. In the same way he caught it, Morgana did too. It was just a brief contact of lips meeting and then averted gazes that made Merlin smile. He didn’t know why, he just felt it well up and burst out.

 

They looked beautiful in love.

 

“You look lighter,” Dr. Gaius says. “Like some of the weight has been lifted.”

 

Merlin shakes his head. He knows what that means, and he’s not getting better. “No, it’s just shifted. It’s still there, and it’s still heavy.”

 

Dr. Gaius writes again. “Your mother told me you stopped taking your medication. Care to explain?”

 

“It stopped working.”

 

“Are you taking the new dosage?”

 

Merlin frowns. “I took more.”

 

Dr. Gaius sighs and scribbles again. “You know that’s dangerous, don’t you? Were there any ill side-effects that you noticed?”

 

Merlin shrugs. Nothing had happened. It was just the same emptiness that it always was. “No. They just don’t work anymore.”

 

“What about your nightmares?”

 

“The same.”

 

Dr. Gaius sighs and removes his glasses, rubs his eyes in a tired gesture. “I can’t help you if you don’t talk, Merlin.”

 

Merlin’s not paying attention anymore though. He’s staring out the window-wall again, but this time it’s not raining. Sometimes he thinks he’s beyond help.

 

He’s really starting to believe it.

 

-

 

Arthur’s actually surprised to see Uther at the kitchen table when he gets up at a quarter to noon. It almost feels like the Twilight Zone or something, seeing his father reading the morning paper and drinking his coffee. He was probably five the last time he saw it.

 

He starts feeling nostalgic, but the fact that his father isn’t at work right now probably isn’t a good thing. Trying to ignore the overwhelming presence, Arthur pours himself a cup of coffee and steals some of Morgana’s cereal. It’s something weird and healthy and he can only assume that it’s Gwen’s influence because it’s not the usual sugary brand with the strange animal people on the front. And all the milk in the fridge has been replaced with soymilk.

 

Behind him he hears the paper being folded and then Uther’s voice saying, “It seems Morgana has found another one.”

 

“Gwen,” Arthur says to the unasked question. “She’s in the same grade as Morgana and she’s some kind of humanitarian or something. Tutors and volunteers.” And the soymilk isn’t as bad as he’d thought it would be.

 

“Hm. At least she’s not trying to hex the neighbors anymore.”

 

Arthur coughs at that but doesn’t correct Uther; she’d actually been trying to bless them, but the less said about that the better.

 

“You’ve been skipping school.”

 

Arthur nods. He was wondering when Uther would bring that up. “I didn’t know you cared.”

 

There’s a pause, an inhalation of air, and then, “Of course I care, Arthur. You’re my son. I admit I may have been busy with work lately, but that doesn’t mean…”

 

Arthur snaps his head up, stares, slams his spoon on the table. “Lately? _Lately?_ I didn’t even know you had gray hair!”

 

“That still doesn’t explain why you haven’t been in school.”

 

“I’m passing, that should be enough,” Arthur says, standing and putting the barely started bowl of cereal in the sink. He pauses before he leaves, though, hands on either side of the doorway, and he stares at his father, who looks pale and drawn. “It’s not my fault Mom died, so stop punishing me for it.”

 

He doesn’t wait to hear what Uther has to say, what he looks like now that the words are finally out, he just grabs his bike and heads to the rusty swing set. He has work to do.

 

-

 

Gwen leaves after she graduates, hops on a bus to London with promises to write frequently and a kiss for each of them. Merlin waves absently between Morgana and Hunith as he watches her disappear in the window at the back of the bus. When he gets the cookies right, she made him promise, he’ll have to send her some.

**Author's Note:**

> Since this deals with such sensitive topics, please let me know if I missed any tags or warnings.


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